


Just Like a Song

by Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Praise Kink, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 17:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Harry decides it's time he and Nick stop avoiding the obvious and Nick's tired of fighting the fact he's been into Harry for longer than he cares to admit.





	Just Like a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer. Although some settings are inspired by real life events and real people, this is very much a work of fiction. Thank you to [daretomarvel](http://daretomarvel.tumblr.com/) for responding to my Tumblr call for prompts with an amazing post-hiatus suggestion of Harry playing Nick one of his new songs to show him how he feels. All credit for the lyrics _Do you ever dream / of the life we lead / in people's imaginations_ go to daretomarvel's prompt.
> 
>  
> 
> I loved writing this and am planning to make it part of a wider series so do let me know if there's anything you want to see in this 'verse. Series title and the title for this fic taken from Adele's 'When We Were Young'

They don’t do this. They’ve joked about it, obviously and read all the stories in the press. Nick brushed them under the carpet by saying Harry might think everyone is obsessed with him, but it takes more than an average face and a slow blink to win Nick’s affections. He’s the master of deflection, Nick is. He’s also terrible with relationships, something Harry knows all too well. He tells Harry after one beer too many that Nick’s only into people who are probably going to break his heart. Harry’s forehead crinkles and his lips purse like he’s thinking really hard about something and he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. With a sigh, Nick pokes him in the side and points out Harry isn’t going to break any hearts with a horrible face like that. Harry looks disgruntled but he still laughs and they get another round in.

Nick just doesn’t want it to get awkward. Because the thing is, Harry’s _Harry_ and they’ve been friends for far too long to fuck that up over a quick shag after one tequila too many. Not to mention Harry could be out shagging supermodels and in the meantime Nick’s having long conversations with his mirror about double chins and poor muscle definition. Of course, he’s wondered about Harry before. He thought about it in a way that made his skin crawl with shame so he couldn’t look Harry in the eye properly for days afterwards. It made him feel like a groupie or like those articles about Nick and his famous friends might have a point. He hates that feeling. The press are shit and Nick’s tired of defending himself, but no amount of telling himself it's all stupid lessens the embarrassment. It makes him strange and awkward around Harry, then Harry wonders what's up and gives Nick the kind of look that makes Nick want to pull him close and tell him _of course you’re bloody lovely_. Harry should know that. He _is_ bloody lovely and that’s part of the problem.

Harry changes, after Jamaica. They move from texts about nothing and months of not being in the same room to shopping for lamps, eating takeaways and spending nights on the sofa together watching shit telly. Nick’s heart definitely isn’t ready for it. He’s not ready for the way finishing the album makes Harry seem more free somehow, as if he’s let go of the things that made him distant and preoccupied in the last heady days of pre-hiatus One Direction. They slip back into the same easy, comfortable friendship that’s always made perfect sense to Nick and they skirt around the unspoken line between them with ease, never allowing touches to linger for too long or drunken nights to get out of hand. Nick’s been feeling rather proud of himself. He’s finally adulting properly, striking the balance between having Harry around and not needing large tubs of ice-cream to ease the Harry-shaped hole in his heart when he leaves, which he inevitably does. 

Which is why it makes no sense when Harry drags him into the only quiet room in the building after SNL live and just _looks_ at him.

“Good job, popstar.” Nick takes in the room and tries to keep his voice level. “Any reason we’re here instead of getting on the free booze?”

“Nick,” Harry says. It’s low, rough and a little bit desperate. He makes Nick’s name sound like _please_.

“Make sure you introduce me to Jimmy Fallon, yeah? _Love_ that man-”

“ _Nick_ ,” Harry says again and it’s more insistent this time. He’s also closer, standing opposite Nick and looking up at him, biting his bottom lip. He looks almost broken and his eyes are bright and eager, like he wants to do the things they never do, the stuff that isn’t for them.

“I thought I’d find the Mick Jagger stuff embarrassing, but it wasn’t, was it?” It’s possible Nick’s voice has become a bit high-pitched and squeaky because Harry’s looking at him in a way Harry knows he can’t look at Nick. Not if they have any hope of staying _just friends_. “Anyway, good job, popstar.” Nick puts an easy hand on Harry’s shoulder. That’s fine. That lets him keep a sensible distance. It’s a _well done, mate_ kind of clap on the shoulder. But Harry doesn’t seem to get the _Nick trying to keep a bit of distance_ thing and he edges close enough that Nick can feel warm breath on his cheek and the restless beat of Harry’s heart. Nervous energy flows through Harry's body and Nick registers every taut muscle and the bumps on Harry’s spine as he runs his fingers down Harry’s back. It’s less friendly, that. A bit more intimate. He can smell Harry’s cologne, soapy skin and the sharp scent of perspiration. It makes him a bit dizzy.

“It could have been better.” Harry’s lips tip downwards, his brow furrows. “You know it could.”

Nick knows the notes didn’t quite get there and he saw the look of disappointment on Harry’s face after his first song. He doubts anyone cared because it was raw and its imperfections made the performance even better. Nick got tingles down his spine. Actual shivers, because of bloody Harry and his eager way of searching out someone in the crowd, with his husky voice cracking around the edges.

“You’ll get it next time and no one’s going to care. It sounded _good_ , not like you were just up there miming to a tape like Britney. No one wants that.” Nick and Harry don’t lie to each other and the way Harry’s lips curve upwards just a little makes Nick’s heart flutter inconveniently.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Yeah.” 

“Nick,” Harry says again. He’s so, so close. “I wanted it to be good.”

“It was. It always is.” Nick isn’t sure they’re even talking about the performance anymore. The soundtrack to this odd dance that they do seems to have switched to a slow, dance-floor clearing ballad and they’re the only two people left trying to decide whether they should just go for it or go and get a drink. He rubs his thumb against Harry’s cheek. He means to just touch his smile or something, but it turns into cupping Harry’s jaw and brushing his thumb over Harry’s lips, watching as they part beneath the gentle pressure.

“God, Nick,” Harry says. His eyes close and Nick can’t _breathe_ because he’s going to kiss Harry. He’s going to do it here, right in the middle of a room which looks a bit like the kind of place people chuck the stuff that doesn’t get used. Appropriate, he thinks. To be in a room like that, kissing Harry Styles. They shuffle closer and then their lips connect, soft and sure. Nick thinks it’s a pretty innocent kiss, something he’ll be able to laugh off later as like snogging Pixie or Kelly or Gellz. But then a low groan leaves Harry’s lips and it goes straight through Nick’s body – a bolt of desire slicing into his heart and bringing to the surface years of wanting and not having.

“Harry…” Nick means to say something like _don’t_ or _this is a terrible idea_ but instead he nearly hauls Harry off his feet, moving them both awkwardly to a cluttered corner where he can push Harry against the wall and press himself against Harry’s body which responds so eagerly. The kiss isn’t innocent, who’s Nick trying to kid? It’s hard and searching this time, their hands are everywhere and Harry sounds _wrecked_ as he gasps out Nick’s name in a half whisper. It’s really rougher than Nick expected from Harry, harder and more desperate than any of his kisses in a long time. He drinks in every sigh from Harry, slotting his leg between Harry’s thighs and urging their bodies close together, grinding into him. He shoves his other hand into Harry’s hair and tugs his head back just a little to take control of the kiss, deepening it and tasting every inch of Harry’s mouth. When he feels Harry’s hand at his buckle he pulls back just for a moment, gulping in the air which is full of the sound and smell of Harry. It’s intoxicating and it makes him panic, his breath quickening and his shoulders heaving a little too much.

“Hey. Hey, Nick. It’s okay.” Harry rubs his hand over Nick’s chest and how’s _that_ meant to help anything?

“I know it’s okay,” Nick says. But he doesn’t, not really. He presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes and holding Harry in place. They both breathe into the still room and eventually Nick manages to regain enough composure to speak. He looks at Harry’s plump lips and messy hair and his heart jumps uncontrollably in his chest. “Eileen’s going to wonder where we are.”

“Doubt it, she’s probably doing shots with the band and learning to play air guitar.” Harry grins, but he looks a bit uncertain.

“Anyone could come in.”

“I could lock the door,” Harry offers. He looks hopeful and Nick can’t help but laugh at his expression.

“I’m not shagging you in a broom cupboard, Harold.”

“No?” Harry looks put out and Nick kisses him again, softer this time. “But if we’re not in a broom cupboard and your mum’s not outside you might?” Harry grins, but the uncertainty is still there. He’s not as confident as he seems sometimes, when he’s throwing himself around a stage or making terrible jokes on live radio.

“Maybe.” Nick rolls his eyes at the Harry’s crestfallen face. “ _Definitely_. You know me, always easy for a good-looking boy in his twenties.”

“Hey.” Harry glares and pushes himself off the wall. He gives Nick a quick look. “You know that’s not what this is?”

Nick doesn’t, actually but with Harry looking at him like that and the memory of the kiss burned on his brain there’s not a lot he can say. He shrugs and then wraps a casual arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get some champagne. I had to watch some big deal popstar for the last few hours and nobody got me so much as a half a lager.”

“Rude,” Harry says. He smiles around the word, and Nick’s so gone for him. 

“Rubbish outfit choices, too. All about the plaid trouser, that one.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the support.” Harry laughs, shoving Nick away and smiling at him. His eyes are bright and he doesn’t look too well-kissed so they won’t give the game away when they go out and face the world. Nick's almost disappointed.

“I’m here, aren’t I? In _New York_.” Nick still can’t believe it. He’s flown to quite a few places for Harry, but this feels different. Not that it matters. He'd probably go to the moon if it involved giving Harry a big thumbs up from the crowd and a glass of something chilled afterwards. 

“Yeah.” Harry gives Nick a look which is unbelievably fond and it sends Nick’s heart racing all over again. “You’re here. Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome.”

If Harry can just slip back into easy friendship dialogue as if they weren’t just two seconds away from fucking against a wall, Nick can do the same. He opens the door and gives himself a moment.

It’s fine. He can do this. He puts on his best fake smile and grabs the nearest glass of something alcoholic, before heading into the fray.

*

Nick’s not only good at deflecting, he’s also great at not talking about his feelings. He can avoid difficult conversations like a pro. He’s not exactly ignoring Harry, but he decides to let him do his promotional stuff without sending a constant stream of texts as he watches everything unfold. It’s Harry’s moment. Harry’s year to become a star in his own right. Nick tells himself he’s just being a pal and it’s absolutely nothing to do with trying to ensure he’s not alone with Harry again in the near future.

He’s been doing rather well, all things considered, which is why it’s slightly inconvenient when Harry turns up at his door, clutching something square and flat in a brown paper bag.

“Afternoon.” Nick lets the dogs jump up and chase their tails in excitement before standing aside so Harry can come in. “I was going for a run.” He gestures to his gym gear. It's not strictly true as Nick was about five minutes away from giving up the running lark and crawling under the duvet with Netflix and a cup of tea.

“I can come back, if you want.” Harry looks at Nick from his position on the floor where he’s playing with Pig. She loves Harry. Stinky’s less sure, which is peculiar and also hilarious. Nick loves reminding Harry that his dog's got very discerning tastes and Harry tends to turn up with ludicrous presents and treats in an attempt to bond with Stinky. Nick finds it far too endearing for words. He's also quite proud of Stinky for resisting the Styles charms.

“You know me, any excuse to put off a jog.” Nick closes the door and wanders into the kitchen. “Beer?”

“Green tea would be good.” 

Nick doesn’t roll his eyes or give Harry a fond look. Instead he makes the tea and sits himself down, waiting for Harry to join him. “Is that for me?”

“Not really. A bit, maybe.” Harry sits and pushes the package across the table. “It’s my album. There’s something I wanted you to listen to on there. Doesn’t have to be now.”

“You know I could play this on the radio tomorrow and ruin all that planning of yours? It would send the fans wild.” Nick won’t, of course. Something catches in his throat as he slides the record out of the paper bag. He knows Harry trusts him but this feels different, somehow. He stares at the image on the front and laughs. He sent Harry a text with every single pink emoji he could find when those pictures came out. “This is just a regular Friday for you, innit? Nice pink bath, a few rose petals. Everyone thinks you’re being dead arty but that’s because they don’t know you do this every weekend with a glass of Blossom Hill and a bit of Marvin Gaye in the background. This is just what time off from the boys looks like.”

“Thanks.” Harry gives Nick a look, but he’s smiling. “Glad you like it.” He fiddles with his mug. “Listen later, maybe. When I’m not here.”

“Why?” Nick flashes Harry a grin. “Been writing love songs about me again, Harold?”

Harry’s cheeks heat and he clears his throat and _oh_. Nick’s glad he’s sitting down because there’s a good chance he might have fallen over otherwise. 

“Harry…”

“Nick.” Harry pulls a face and then he huffs out a breath, grabbing the album. He makes himself at home in Nick’s home. He always has. When he first saw the new house he made a point of exploring the rooms and poking inside every cupboard. He’s a curious soul, Harry is. He likes to make himself a cuppa, bribe the dogs onto his lap with treats or help when Nick’s cooking their tea. 

“This could be awkward,” Nick says. He’s still cringing over the day they spent avoiding listening to _Sign of the Times_. It makes him feel a bit panicky thinking about having to react to a new song when Harry’s right there. A new song that may or may not be about _him_. He has an image of Harry crooning his name at a grand piano and it makes him honest to goodness _giggle_ until he’s breathless with it. 

“It’s not that funny.” Harry frowns at Nick, looking bemused.

“No, you worked hard on it, I know.” Nick tries to take a breath but he collapses into laughter again. He’s a bit concerned it sounds slightly mad. Harry stops looking bemused and looks concerned, eyeing Nick with trepidation. “Sorry, just…imagining you…grand piano…me as Julia Roberts. Look good in a red dress, me.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Harry snorts with laughter, half smiling, half exasperated. Nick has that effect on people. 

“I don’t know anymore.” Nick finally stops laughing. “Give me a moment, Styles. Not sure I’m ready to hear a popstar’s written a song about me.”

“I didn’t say that.” Harry flushes to his ears, but he’s smiling. “Not exactly. More…well, just listen.”

“Okay.” The laughter leaves Nick in a rush and he feels remarkably sober, his stomach doing that flip-floppy thing it often does when Harry’s in the room or Nick’s thinking about their ridiculous kiss. The song begins and the familiar notes of Harry’s voice make Nick’s stomach swoop. Harry’s not looking at Nick. He’s looking at everything but Nick, taking a sudden interest in the photos he’s seen a million times before. He peers at them all with an endearing look of studious concentration, as if he’s seeing them for the first time.

Nick listens to the lyrics and the melody, soft and slow. It’s not like it’s a song about an ageing radio DJ who may or may not have a double chin. It’s more painful than that. Lots of bits about home and wanting something you can’t have when life’s a bit bonkers. Right there, sandwiched between two soaring choruses is the line that makes Nick wonder if it's possible to stop breathing.

_Do you ever dream / of the life we lead / in people's imaginations_

Nick’s head starts spinning and Harry’s quiet presence _right there_ isn’t helping anything. He feels a warm, solid hand on his shoulder and he puts his head in his hand, rubbing at his forehead and trying to make sense of everything. It’s been a long time, for the person in the song. A long time thinking about a home that doesn’t really exist outside of dreams and lazy imaginings. He knows what people think about him and Harry. He knows what _other people’s imaginations_ means. It’s not just the fans or Finchy. It’s Nick’s friends that think it too. They give him knowing looks when he bemoans permanent bachelorhood and insists he’s just waiting for Frank Ocean to come along and sweep him off his feet. He might be good at deflecting and not talking, but he’s less good at hiding the fact he’s so daft for Harry he might as well have hearts in his eyes.

“Nick.”

“Harry.”

“We’re not in a broom cupboard anymore. Your mum’s not outside.” Harry’s voice is like melted butter on a hot slice of toast, warm and comforting as it slides through Nick’s veins. The record’s stopped playing and the only sound is Pig clattering around on the wooden floors.

“Are you propositioning me?” Nick sits back in his chair and stares straight ahead. There are pictures of butterflies that always remind him of Harry’s odd tattoos and the InstaGrim picture off of the radio interview which he’s kept up, because of course he has. Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t get that kind of treatment. Jake's always been a bit of a fun joke for Nick. Not like Harry. There’s never been anything remotely funny about the possibility of fucking up one of the best things in his life. One of the best people.

“Might be.” Harry’s hand squeezes down on Nick’s shoulder, firm and large covered with a million different rings, one of which Nick got him last year to add to the growing collection. Aimee took the piss and said he should probably just do them all a favour and present it in a velvet box, down on one knee. He didn’t. He wrapped it in an old article about Taylor Swift and got Harry a card with a dog wearing sunglasses on the front that said ‘Happy Birthday Man!’ on the front. Just friends. That’s the kind of gift that’s just good friends. He spent at least an hour debating whether to go for kisses at the end and eventually decided on a doodle of a stick figure with mad hair. Much safer.

“Not sure how I feel about being propositioned.” Nick stands, finally. His legs shake a bit and he’s finding it’s difficult to look at Harry straight on. “It could be a disaster.”

“It might be good, though,” Harry says. All reasonable logic as if they’re discussing what to have for their tea. “I think it would be. Good.”

“Do you?” Nick’s voice comes out a bit faint and he moves closer to Harry, fully aware that this time there’s no one around to stop them. Harry’s just beginning. He’s got years of potential pop super-stardom ahead of him. He’s got a film to promote and an album to tour and the dreaded second album he’s probably going to want to go back to Jamaica to write. He’s got half the Kardashian-Jenners on speed dial and a big place in LA that has new pans Nick hasn’t even seen yet. He’s got this whole other world outside of a small house in Hackney and two dogs who love to chew Nick’s pillows and fight over leaves in the garden. Nick’s life is _simple_ and Harry’s life – his new life – is really just getting started. “We’re not in the same place.”

Harry looks around, deliberately obtuse. “We are, actually.”

“Ha, ha. Funny.” Nick glares at Harry who shrugs. He’s always been fond of a bad joke.

“Aren’t we, though?” Harry looks quizzical. “I’ve got more control now. More time. I’m in London loads, I love it here.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Harry steps closer, looking up. “Like, _love_ it.”

“You do not.” Nick puts his hand over Harry’s mouth because _Christ_ he’s not ready to hear Harry look at him and say the word love, all casual like it’s just talking about Rihanna’s outfit at some award ceremony. “You don’t love it.”

“Do, actually.” Harry pushes Nick’s hand away and he winks. “I love it sooooo much.”

Nick snorts and he gives Harry a bit of a kick. “Stop that.”

“Why?” Harry’s pressed close now and his breath catches in his throat. “I’d rather not stop. Why are we still talking?”

“Because I know what’s going to happen if we stop,” Nick says.

“What’s going to happen?” Harry looks delighted, pressing even closer and moving his hands over Nick’s chest. “Will I like it?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, probably. I’ll be worrying about my stomach rolls and the fact my tan’s fading and looks weird. You’ll just be fit and distracting. I might not get it up, because of the nerves.”

Harry laughs, the kind of loud, long, Harry-ish laugh that makes Nick lose his goddamn mind. “You reckon?”

“Maybe.” Truth be told, Nick’s already far too close to _getting it up_. Harry crowds his space and he’s handsy, bright-eyed and it’s all a bit of a problem. He touches Harry’s jaw, tilting his head a little. “What’s this about?”

“About wanting you.” Harry just puts it out there and he keeps his focus on Nick, intense and very hard to handle at four o’clock in the afternoon without any booze to take the edge off. “Because I have, you see. For ages. Properly ages. I think we should give it a go.”

“You do, do you?” Nick slides his hand to Harry’s hair, toying with it. “This is a terrible idea.”

“No,” Harry says. “It’s an excellent idea.”

Nick swallows, a lump in his throat. He wants Harry but he knows how this goes. He knows the way things can get awkward and horrible, the way the press speculate and the shit Nick gets on Twitter. He knows it’s going to be an unmitigated disaster. Probably. But there’s a part of him – the part of him that’s not to be trusted – that doesn’t like to deny Harry anything. Not least when there are clear benefits to Nick. 

“Come on, then.” With a sigh, Nick tugs Harry as close as he can and then kisses him. As easy as that. Within a moment of pretty chaste snogging they’re right back to New York all over again, with open mouthed kisses and lots of banging around the place trying to find a decent surface. Nick’s going to have to have a word with the interior designer about making his kitchen more Harry-shagging friendly. At the moment it just seems like there’s loads of sharp edges and Pig seems to think they’re playing a game.

“Nick, wait.” Harry laughs into the kiss, pulling back and running his hand through his hair as Pig jumps up at him, barking her head off. “Your dogs are mental.”

“Take that back.” Nick glares at Harry who shrugs and gives him another wide grin over his shoulder before disappearing off. The bedroom. Of course. Harry and his wily, nosy ways getting the lay of Nick’s house. Of course he knows where he’s going.

Nick curses under his breath and follows.

*

When he gets to his room and closes the door on the dogs after apologising profusely, Harry’s already there. He’s made himself at home (as usual) sprawled out on the bed with his shoes and socks off, put in a tidy pile on the floor. He’s polite, Harry is. Nick loves that about him.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Styles.”

“I hope not.” Harry's forehead wrinkles and he looks a bit perturbed at the thought of being responsible for Nick’s imminent departure from the world. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

There’s only so much time Nick can dawdle in the doorway, pretending to be unlacing his trainers. In the end he just kicks them off, takes off his socks and pulls his t-shirt over his head while he’s at it. He might as well give Harry the chance to run for hills early on in the proceedings.

“Oh.” Harry isn’t running. He licks his lips and his eyes darken. He drops his hand to his crotch and he palms at the growing bulge in his trousers. “Yeah.”

“Really?” Nick thinks Harry’s losing his mind, looking down at the weird uneven tan lines on his chest. 

“Come here, _please_.” Harry looks put out and that won’t do. Nick’s never been able to resist the voice Harry uses when he’s trying to wheedle something out of Nick.

“I’d rather watch you.” Nick comes anyway, shifting over Harry and nudging his hand away from his crotch taking the opportunity to have a quick feel while he’s down there. Harry’s so hard already and he arches up when Nick touches him, like it’s not just a quick grope through impossibly tight denim. It makes Nick a bit breathless. “Alright, maybe not.”

“Next time,” Harry says. “Another time.” He pulls Nick down into a messy kiss, pushing up into Nick’s hand. “I’ll put on a show.”

“God.” Nick fumbles with the zip on Harry’s jeans knowing full well it can take a bit of shuffling around to get out of trousers that look like they’ve been painted on. He doesn’t want to have to do that. He wants to get all the awkward bits out of the way so he can focus on just taking Harry apart and putting him back together again. “I bet you would, too.”

“You’d have to keep talking to me, though.” Harry’s voice is still slow but it’s a bit breathless. “Could be a bit weird. You’d say strange things.”

“I would not.” Nick’s a bit offended by that, but Harry’s jeans come off surprisingly easily so that’s progress at least. “I’ll have you know I’m _great_ at talking dirty.”

“Okay.” Harry sounds amused and fond. “Like what?”

“Oooh, look at that gorgeous popstar cock.” Nick’s going for humour but his words come out low and rough and Harry’s trousers are _finally_ off so Nick can palm over Harry’s cock through his boxers. “Good enough?” He nips Harry’s earlobe and Harry isn’t laughing anymore.

“Yeah, fuck. _Nick_.”

With a low groan, Nick shoves down Harry’s boxers and kisses his way down Harry’s body. He focuses on all the daft tattoos and takes his time, dipping his tongue into Harry’s belly button and holding him down firmly by his hips when he starts bucking up towards Nick’s mouth. He’s going to give Nick a black eye at this rate.

When he finally gets to Harry’s cock, Nick draws in a breath. It should be strange, doing this with Harry. It should make him want to laugh and suggest they just put on _The Simpsons_ and stop the madness. It doesn’t. It makes his throat dry and his own prick hard in his shorts and all he wants to do is taste, touch and drive Harry absolutely wild with need. He sets about keeping Harry in place and he licks over the tip of his cock, savouring the salty taste of him. He pushes down over Harry, pulling out some of his finest tricks. He’s going to make sure if this is the only opportunity he gets, at least Harry remembers it. 

“Nick…please…” Harry sounds a bit wrecked, his voice rough and eager. He shifts his legs a little apart and Nick pulls up, earning a growl of annoyance from Harry. “Well don’t _stop_.”

Nick laughs and moves up Harry’s body, giving him a quick kiss before rummaging in his bedside cabinet for lube. When he finally retrieves it lodged in next to a bag of Skittles (random) and a box of condoms, he holds it up.

“This what you were looking for?”

“ _Yes_.” Harry’s pupils are blown wide, eyes dark with arousal. His hair’s a mess and his cheeks are flushed a delightful pink. He looks so good it steals Nick’s breath from his lungs and he has to remember this isn’t one of his one-night-stands. This is _Harry_. Nick’s Harry. 

“Hiya.” He leans over Harry again and he kisses him, soft and slow.

“Hi,” Harry says. He smiles against Nick’s lips. There’s a beat and then he nudges up to grab another quick kiss. “Just so you know, I haven’t…err…”

“Had sex?” Nick gives Harry a look. “Pull the other one.”

Harry snorts with laughter and it should be gross but it’s ridiculously charming. “Done stuff like this. With a bloke.”

“Well, you’re going to wonder what you’ve been waiting for,” Nick says, with more confidence than he feels as he slicks his fingers and his own cheeks get warm.

“Nick.” Harry’s voice sounds warm like one of his slow songs. “I know what I’ve been waiting for.”

Nick looks up and Harry smiles in a way that sets Nick’s heart pounding almost out of his chest.

“That’s a lot of pressure, Harold.”

“Not really.” Harry gestures towards his cock. “Come on, then. Bit rude to keep me sitting around waiting.”

“I might have known you’d be like this.” Nick shifts and bites lightly down on Harry’s hip. “Full of popstar demands.”

“Is it okay?” Harry’s fingers slide into Nick’s hair and he sounds worried. “I’ll do you after. You can fuck me, if you want?”

Nick’s heart nearly stops at that and he has to take a minute to compose himself before he looks up. Harry bites his bottom lip and he looks genuinely worried. _Is it okay_. Nick would roll his eyes but he knows Harry means it. He actually thinks Nick might be want more, want different, want something other than Harry. That daft idiot. Nick would kiss him if he didn’t have other, more immediate plans for his mouth.

“It’s…” Nick tries to think of the word. The _perfect_ catches in his throat and _fine_ sounds like a bad compliment. He breathes out against Harry’s skin, whispering the only thing that makes sense. “ _You_.” He hopes Harry knows what that means. He hopes he gets the inference that _you_ is pretty much the only thing Nick needs. Harry could roll out some pretty oddball kinks and Nick would probably be into every single one. With Harry.

“And you,” Harry says. 

“Me and you.” Nick swallows and then he reverts back to the task at hand. He rubs his slick fingers over Harry’s hole and takes in the way he arches and moans, kicking a leg out and pushing back towards Nick. Nick steadies him a little and then slides a finger slowly inside Harry before taking him into his mouth again. The _sounds_ Harry makes. Nick could die happy on the memory of those, just the low, husky murmurs of his name from Harry’s lips and the way he shifts and gasps. He’s so pliant and so, so responsive to every touch. For the first time, Nick begins to wonder if he hasn’t got the balance between them a bit wrong. Perhaps it’s not just Nick who finds this whole thing too much to process - not just Nick whose heart beats out of his chest when they're together.

He makes Harry’s cock slick with his saliva, sliding a second finger inside him and crooking them when he pulls back. At least he knows sex. He might seem to lack confidence in some places or feel the need to suck in his stomach when he’s naked, but he’s pretty sure Harry’s not too worried about taking in every wrinkle and oddly placed hair on Nick’s body at the moment. He looks up and Harry’s watching Nick, his eyes glazed. Harry's breath leaves him in a low whoosh as he meets Nick’s eyes.

“Nick…” Harry’s voice sounds broken and he reaches down, brushing his thumb over where Nick’s mouth is stretched around him. “Want this so much. Want you _so much_.”

Nick could come just from Harry saying those words and looking at him as if he’s everything, so he ducks his head to focus on touching Harry and responding to every last moan and writhe. He fingers Harry slowly, sucking him until he can feel Harry getting close. Harry gives Nick’s quiff a bit of a tug, polite as ever, and Nick just nods, taking Harry into the back of his throat and relaxing around him as he rubs inside Harry and makes him arch up with a shout of pleasure.

Nick slides off Harry slowly, taking as much as he can before slipping his fingers out. He moves back up the bed, feeling a bit strange now. The blowjobs and the fingering are the easy bits. It’s the conversation afterwards he’s worried about. Harry doesn’t seem to share any of Nick’s trepidation, though. Instead he tugs Nick into a deep kiss which leaves them both breathless.

“Can I have a go?” Harry rubs his palm against Nick’s shorts and brushes his lips against the shell of Nick’s ear. “Want to suck you.”

“Obviously you can.” Nick’s voice sounds a little squeaky but it’s only to be expected, with Harry’s low voice in his ear talking about sucking Nick’s cock like it’s the kind of thing they do all the time.

“I…don’t know how.” Harry pushes Nick back, moving over him and he looks worried for a moment. 

“Watch the teeth.” Nick runs his hands over Harry's thighs. They're _very_ good thighs. “It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Besides, you and those bananas…”

Harry bursts out laughing and he takes Nick’s hand – the one that isn’t still sticky with lube and he toys with his fingers. After a moment he lifts it and pulls one of Nick’s fingers into his mouth.

“Fuck.” Nick sucks in a breath and feeds Harry a second finger until they're slick with saliva. Harry moans quite unfairly, looking like he should be in some kind of finger fetish porn film. Nick clears his throat because he doesn’t want Harry to forget about his cock which is really just there, waiting for something. Anything. He feels like he’s going to explode.

“Love your fingers.” Harry pulls off Nick’s hand with a slick _pop_ and he flushes to his ears. “They feel really good.”

“I’m glad.” Nick reaches up and brushes the corner of Harry’s lips, which glisten in the dim light of the room. “They like you too, Harold.”

With another delighted smile, Harry tugs at Nick’s shorts and pants, discarding them with ease. He lets out a very flattering groan of pleasure as he looks at Nick’s cock, stroking it slowly with his hand.

“Don’t just stare at it, Styles. You’ll give me a complex.”

“No I won’t.” Harry rolls his eyes but he does as Nick says, keeping his hand wrapped around the base of Nick’s cock and moving his mouth over him. It’s not the best blowjob Nick’s had but there’s something that’s actually quite charming about that. It’s messy and inexperienced and it makes Nick’s heart swell with the kind of fondness Harry always brings out in him. It’s also far from the worst blowjob Nick’s had and Harry takes a slow, serious approach to tasting every inch of Nick. He seems to want to explore and Nick can’t help but be pleased that the whole cock thing doesn’t seem to be putting Harry off. At all. 

Nick’s so close to the edge it doesn’t take long. He gives Harry the same tug to his hair in warning, but Harry seems just as determined as Nick was to stay exactly where he is. With a low groan, Nick spills into Harry’s mouth. Harry does what he can before pulling back and coughing in a slightly alarming manner. It would be just like Nick to choke Harry Styles with his come. He can just imagine the reactions on Twitter if _that_ ever came out.

“Alright, love?”

“Yeah.” Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slides under the duvet, coming up to Nick’s side and urging him to get under the covers. Nick does as he’s told, pressing their feet together and pulling Harry into a slow kiss. It lacks the urgent passion of before but it’s no less deep, no less strong. It doesn’t make Nick’s whole skin tingle with the need to get Harry into bed but it does make something fierce settle in his chest as he brings Harry close to him, wrapping him up in his arms. “Was that okay?” Harry presses his finger to the corner of Nick’s smile, watching him.

“Perfect.” Nick leans in and kisses Harry again, just because he can. 

“I’m a bit knackered, now.” Harry yawns and he burrows close to Nick. “Sleep for a bit? We could get a takeaway later. Watch a bit of telly.”

“Okay.” Nick’s words catch in his throat. He doesn’t feel that sleepy but he’s damned if he’s going to go out and leave Harry in his bed. “I need to walk the dogs.”

“I’ll help. I can take Stinky.” Harry likes a challenge. He’s determined to make that dog love him as much as Pig does. 

“What about the press?” Nick doesn’t want to push. Now’s definitely not the time for the big conversation. The one about what this all means and what Harry’s plans are. He doesn’t want to spoil the moment, for a start. They’ll work it out.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve done that before.”

Sort of, Nick thinks. They walked Pig when they were _just mates_. Nick's not sure he’s ready to be papped giving Harry the heart-eyes. 

“If you like." It’s in Harry’s hands, really. All of this. “Give me a minute. I need the loo.”

“Mm.” Harry nestles into the pillow, nodding and waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. 

Nick goes for a piss and washes his hands, staring at himself in the mirror. He looks as if he’s been kissing for hours, his cheeks flushed pink and his lips red. Not to mention his quiff’s a fucking disaster. When he gets back into the room, Harry’s fast asleep and he’s moved over to bury his head in Nick’s pillow with a contented smile on his face.

Nick goes into the kitchen and gets himself some water. If he listens to Harry’s song three more times before he comes back to bed, well. No one has to know but him.

_~Fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [writsgrimmyblog](https://writsgrimmyblog.tumblr.com/) and I'm always open to Gryles and Tomlinshaw prompts, just send me a message.


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